


The Rescue Mission

by Jaina



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Killing Eve Week - Day Two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaina/pseuds/Jaina
Summary: Eve rescues Villanelle from grave peril. Fluff.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 76
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	The Rescue Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to unusualcliches for taking a look at this for me!

“Eve, I need help.” 

Eve glances from left to right, her motions jerky. It’s the first time Villanelle has spoken since she entered the changing room and it’s been almost fifteen minutes now. Eve’s already gone from boredom to a sort of meditative nothingness as she waits. The neon walls give everything in sight a faint glow but there’s no one to be seen. “Right,” Eve says with calm certainty. She was a bloody MI-5 agent; she can find a lady in a shop. “I’ll go find someone.” 

Eve takes a glance towards the changing room doors and shifts the strap of her bag a little further up her shoulder before she goes to set off. 

But before she can, Villanelle calls out. “No, Eve. I need you.” 

Eve freezes in place. It feels as if her feet are glued to the floor. “But-“ she starts, jerking a ridiculous thumb over her shoulder as if Villanelle can see her. “I can just go and-“ 

“Eve.” Villanelle’s voice is firm and somehow lightly mocking. “Come here.” There’s a pause and she adds, “I don’t bite.”

Eve snorts. “Bullshit.” But she can move again now and so she is, making her way down the long hallway toward the changing room Villanelle occupies. The fingers of one hand drift across the smoothly painted wall and vibrate across the little slats of the doors until she finally reaches her destination. “What?” She demands. “Do you need a different size or something? Because I’m not your shopgirl, Villanelle, you can go and-“

“Eve.” Villanelle stops the nervous tumble of words that are spilling out of Eve’s mouth with a single syllable. “I don’t need a shopgirl. I need you.”

Then suddenly the door between them is yanked open and Villanelle’s hand is wrapped around her wrist. She draws Eve inside like an inexorable force - the same one she always is. Eve almost stumbles but manages to stay upright as she does.

“Is it- did you get a call or something? Is it-“ Eve lowers her voice and stifles the urge to glance around. “The Twelve?” 

“No, silly!” Villanelle trills out a laugh like this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. Like it hasn’t been mere days since Carolyn shot an operative of the Twelve in front of them and just a little bit longer since Villanelle shoved a representative of The Twelve in front of a moving train. “My zipper is stuck.” 

“Your-“ Eve can’t help it. “Are you fucking kidding me? Who can’t get out of a dress? I’ve seen some of the costumes you wore for your kills. Surely you didn’t have Konstantin following around after you-“ 

“As if,” Villanelle snorts. “Konstantin would have had a heart attack.” She pauses and tilts her head to one side. “A first one. Bigger than the one he had. He would not have survived seeing me naked.” 

Eve gulps. There it is. The one thing she’s been trying not to think about since she was dragged in here. The smooth expanse of skin under dark material that falls luxuriously off one shoulder and bares more of Villanelle’s breasts than she should be staring at. Than she had seen before anyway. 

“Besides those were not a problem,” Villanelle continues. “This is a problem.” She turns so that she can see her back in the mirror and gestures at it. “It’s stuck.” 

It takes a moment, but Eve manages to tear herself away from the slender lines of Villanelle’s neck, from her fascination with the little hairs that fall away from the base of the messy bun Villanelle has pulled her hair up into and slide her gaze down to the zipper that runs all the way down to the base of her spine. She can see it now. The zipper is stuck. Eve gives it a feeble tug and feels her heart sink into her stomach as nothing happens. 

“Okay, I think I can just- Let me try,” but no matter how Eve tugs on the zipper, it doesn’t come undone. And all Eve can think is, “How much does this bloody thing cost?” She mutters it under her breath. 

“More than your apartment,” Villanelle says with a flick of her hand. “Can you get it? It’s getting hot in here.”

“Hot,” Eve scoffs, her gaze flicking up to meet Villanelle’s in the mirror. “You’re barely wearing anything.” 

“And you are wearing far too much. As usual,” Villanelle returns. 

Eve scowls but turns her attention back to the zipper. It’s been almost a week since their moment on the bridge and there have been moments since then too, but they’re still circling one another and Eve isn’t certain how to proceed. She knows what she wants. She’s stopped hiding from herself at least, but Villanelle is still wary. Every overture Eve makes is politely circled and examined, not ignored, but not taken up on. It’s frustrating. Eve isn’t sure how much more of it she can take. 

Giving up on her useless tugging, Eve summons her determination and raises her other hand, bracing it on each side of the zipper and holding it down. She can feel the heat of Villanelle’s skin beneath the thin fabric of the dress. There is a part of Eve that’s nervous, that wants to pull her hand away now that the zipper has begun to move. That part leaves her hand shaking, but the rest of Eve doesn’t want to move. So she lets her hand follow the zipper down, her fingertips brushing over the bumps of Villanelle’s spine as she traces the path downwards. 

“Eve.” Villanelle’s voice sounds shaky. “What are you doing?” 

“Touching you,” Eve hears herself say as she presses her fingers harder into the flesh beneath them. When she looks up Villanelle is looking back at her in the mirror’s reflection. 

“Is it undone?” It takes Eve a moment to realize what Villanelle is asking. She is undone. 

“Yeah. Yes.” It takes an effort for Eve to speak, but she doesn’t look away. 

“Good,” Villanelle responds. She dips her shoulders and the dress falls making a puddle around her ankles as she turns until she is facing Eve. 

Eve swallows. Villanelle hasn’t moved as she turned so Eve’s hand is still pressed against her, just below the scar that Eve left on her abdomen. Her skin is warm and soft and Eve can’t help it - doesn’t want to. She flattens her hand against Villanelle’s stomach, savors the warmth and wishes she could be closer. 

“Eve. What do you want?” It’s the first time Villanelle has asked her that question. The first time anyone has asked her that question in quite some time and it lights a fire beneath Eve’s skin. Here, at last, is something she can have. 

“You.” 

Villanelle spreads her hands open at her sides and Eve lunges forward. Her hands grasp Villanelle’s face and she doesn’t hesitate, her lips finding Villanelle’s, even as she pushes her back against the mirror. 

The dress, and the zipper Eve rescued Villanelle from, lays forgotten on the floor for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


End file.
